


Satisfaction Brought it Back

by Shenanigans



Series: There Are No Ordinary Cats [2]
Category: DCU (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)
Genre: Alley Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, First Time Blow Jobs, Implied Drug Use, Jason has a type, M/M, Roy is not making good life choices, Stray!Jason AU, alcohol use, moving this to it's own little place so that the main fic stays G, reposting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:46:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27916222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenanigans/pseuds/Shenanigans
Summary: Jason can't really explain the reckless joy of a bad decision. Roy is always a bad idea.
Relationships: Roy Harper/Jason Todd
Series: There Are No Ordinary Cats [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2044156
Comments: 10
Kudos: 63





	Satisfaction Brought it Back

**Author's Note:**

> this fic contains sexual acts between people three years apart. If you read it knowing it bothers you then you understand the idea this fic is based on: sometimes making bad decisions just feel good.
> 
> This fic takes place in year 10.

"Who's that?" Jason takes a casual bite of the lemon tart Tim had handed him wordlessly when they found each other in the usual spot. 

Tim was a head shorter than him now, black hair carefully kept in the comb over his parents preferred, features a dichotomy of delicate and sharp as he reached to pick a bit of pastry crumb from Jason's lapel. "Trouble."

Jason snorted, letting his gaze slide back to where the golden boy was surrounded by an irrational number of redheads dressed in black. "Don't be jealous, Timmers."

"Not jealous," Tim replied, voice frank as he turned and sunk into the shadowed recess at the edge of the ballroom. "I just know you."

"You know me?" Jason turned, frowning at his fingers, having eaten the tart without much thought and abortively angry that he'd forgotten to linger in the tart lemon curd and the perfect crumble of the pie crust. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Tim was in a slim black suit, cut to his frame and overly adult on his short frame. "You can be in a room full of people, but you only perk up for the dangerous ones."

"So, he's dangerous?"

"For you? Yes."

"I feel like I should be insulted," Jason said.

"Only if I'm wrong," Tim smiles like he's unwrapping a present with neat tidy fingers, flicking the tape away before it can stick to him. He's the picture perfect bland child of wealth in a picture perfect black suit. If Jason didn't know the other boy could break them into the back room of the museum and lead the security team on a merry chase until they could huddle down in the restoration room with a gaming console between them, he'd be fooled. 

"You haven't answered my question."

"I am not the font of all rich-people-knowledge."

"Don't lie to me, Timbo. You and I both know that's what our entire friendship is based on. You keep me from fucking up with the rich folk and I give you street cred."

"I don't need street cred."

" _Everyone_ needs street cred." Jason beamed at him when Tim handed him another tart he'd apparently hidden on his person.

The museum was showcasing a rotating exhibit of loaned Native Artifacts collected with permission from the First Nations. Long shafts of green light cut through the decorations, the whole gala space carefully created to imply the cold tall forests of the Pacific Northwest. There were cases littered around the gala, small bits of intense color and pageantry collected in glass with a warm golden light. There were two large wooden poles, the rough cut history carved and painted. The room had felt wet and cool, like a shucked oyster and different from the kind of ocean Jason was used to. He knew the cigarette strewn rough sand spit that the boardwalk wandered along. He knew the way it smelled salty and a half step to rotten under the wooden structure- the barnacles and wet green seaweed slimy and cutting by turn. 

The ocean in Gotham lay against the shore like a panting dog, crumbling back and forth along the wet tideline that was a solid mix of seashells, styrofoam cups, needles, and plastic cutlery. Jason liked it anyway, the way it smelled like fried bread, meat on a stick, and the short happy memories of Catherine's hand in his while they picked spun sugar to melt blue on their lips.

The boardwalk had been colorful, overwhelming, and kaleidoscopic. The poor were mismatched and wild. Here, almost everyone was in black, an endless sea of pretty people in tuxes and polite interest. Jason and Tim usually skipped out, but Jason had just finished reading Jack London’s entire published works and actually wanted to go with Selina to see the exhibit. She was using it as a cover to look into the new security system that had been installed in the nearby impressionists wing. Jason had one job tonight and he prickled with purpose.

"You're staring."

"Am not," Jason replied, not looking away from the person who'd caught his eye. He'd been impossible to miss. 

The Star City visitors had caused a ruckus when they arrived; Oliver Queen was an older man with blond hair cut into a classic style at odds with his manicured blonde goatee. He wore a slim tailored double breasted gray suit with subtle pinstriping. His wealth and roguish reputation were marked by a green tie, green pocket square, and a set of polished emerald and brown brogues. His date, Dinah Lance, was stunning with pale blonde hair and a lithe figure smeared into a small black dress. She stood out, rockstar cool in a worn leather jacket that matched the fishnet stiletto combo. Jason had noted the set of emerald earrings that glittered when she tucked her long loose hair behind an ear. He liked that they matched the small drop stone that nestled against the round swell of her breasts. Jason smiled when she took a step forward, chin up, smile sharp. This was familiar. She walked like she would cut someone without hesitation, hands deep in the pockets of her jacket. She smirked at Oliver like she was daring him to watch her instead of the crowd. 

Oliver didn’t look away.

That wasn’t who Jason was staring at, though. Jason had stilled when they'd taken a step down the stairs and left the small group of kids behind them on the steps to the main floor. He’d frozen in the alcove next to Tim. There was a boy about his age in a comfortable looking tan on tan suit that highlighted the exotic feel of his features, blond with a sweet round face, burnished brown skin, and green eyes holding the hand of a girl closer to Tim’s age. She was thin, packed with wiry muscle, attitude, and bruises into a halter pantsuit. Her high ponytail revealed the shorn sides of her head and pretty dangling gold earrings. The girl was pretty in a way that felt too early, like frost cupping the edges of a crocus- light eyes bright behind smokey eyeliner. Jason’s eyes had skimmed over them briefly, drawn to the riot of color behind them.

The oldest boy was a redhead, the impossible kind of fiery auburn that people talked about in books but rarely existed in the wild. He was pale, freckled, and tucked into a startling emerald green suit that was cut too short, bony pale ankles visible before the scuffed black dress shoes. A crisp white shirt buttoned to just under his chin, a hint of tattoo crawling up towards his ear as he scanned the crowd. Jason watched him fidget, watched him tug each sleeve of his jacket and shake his wrist to settle a watch like he wasn't comfortable knowing what time it was. 

“Still staring.” 

“Am not.” Jason had definitely been staring. 

The redhead kept his hair cropped short on the sides and the top long, combed back from his face with an artful messy style. He was looking around the floor like he was trying to find someone. His gaze skipped over where Jason and Tim were hidden, just as green as his suit, his sharp planed face capped with a crooked nose and a chipped tooth. 

Jason's world restarted when the boy in green tossed an arm into the air, his smile going blinding as he skipped lightly down the stairs and to where Dick Grayson was surrounded by his group of impossibly pretty friends.

"Of course."

Beside him, Tim took pity. “That’s Roy Harper.” Jason slid his eyes over to where Tim was looking up at the ceiling, light blue eyes picking from one security camera to the next idly, like he was marking time as he thought. “Oliver Queen’s ward. I think he’s eighteen? Maybe nineteen now? There’s a whole wikipedia page about him, but I’m half convinced they all go on and make edits about each other. He’s been making a splash on the society pages. Party kid. Dropped out of high school, a couple of scandals, rumors about some dangerous affairs and definite implications of more than your normal teen rebellion. He’s smart apparently, has a few contested patents and he uses the money to help support First Nation Rights. Travels a lot.” Tim paused and sighed, speaking slowly like he did sometimes when Jason was being dense. “He’s won some _archery competitions_. He’s got a reputation for being... _fast_.”

“Oh yeah?”

“He’s a restless rich kid with a trust fund, Jason.”

“So are you.” Jason tore his eyes away from where Roy was ducked close to Dick Grayson, whispering against his ear with a sly smile before leaning back and watching the other boy snort and shake his head, shaggy black hair falling into his eyes. “He’s one of them.”

“They all are.” Tim straightened, smoothing his slim hands over his front and pasting on the wintry formal smile he used to deflect questions. The group of older teens was in motion, Dick smiling as Roy led them from one display to another, snagging two glasses of champagne from a silver tray with a saucy wink at the girl in the catering uniform and downing both before she could frown. Jason swallowed, watching the easy invitation he offered the world, hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks and pulling them tight at the front and over his thighs. “But you know, what do I know?”

“A lot. You know a lot,” Jason answered, turning to grin sharply at the younger boy as he started moving toward the buffet. He still had a job to do. “That’s why you’re the best!”

Tim snorted, tossing a quick tolerant hand up into the air in goodbye and melted into the crowd like a shadow, sinking into the perfect rich boy facade between one step and the next.

Jason slipped through the crowd, moving on light feet and muttered apologies until he could slink into the shadow on the opposite side of a glass case, watching Dick Grayson and his pack of friends through the thick panes. The Golden Boy was using his real smile, one step brighter than the pretty magazine polish he usually turned onto the watching crowds. It was the prettier sister of the one on the tabloid covers and photoshoots for Gotham specific spreads. The Prince of Gotham they called him, black haired, beautiful, and utterly charming.

Jason wasn’t watching him, he was counting how many glasses of champagne the boy from Star City was stealing, light fingered and flushed, wreckless smile and easy handsy charm. He’d counted seven before the boy fished a flask from his breast pocket, nipping it absently and sliding it away with a near magical sleight of hand. He was getting looser, louder, and shouldered to the edges of the group.

Roy spoke fast. Jason thought he sounded like the thrumming bassline of a punk song or the raucous ache of hood funk. He was distracting and Jason needed to focus, needed to pay attention so he could work his way behind the buffet table and into the industrial catering kitchen that supplied the space for event staff. 

“All I need, Kitten,” Selina had said, tucking her chin over the top of his head as she leaned over the back of the couch to point around his shoulders at the schematics spread on the coffee table. “Is to make sure you can fit into this exhaust duct.”

“And what do I get out of this?” He had asked, frowning at the thought of having to twist into the black tux they kept for events. 

Selina had curled her arms around him, smiling a kiss against his temple and pushing into it until his head tilted. One of the rangy black tom cats hopped onto the coffee table, the blueprints rustling as he turned in a quick circle and flopped onto his side, back leg flung carelessly into the air as he started grooming his stomach. They didn’t move him. The section they were studying closer to the edge and held down with a pink floral teacup. “My undying affection?”

“A job of my own,” he had countered, nudging her with his nose.

She had hummed, thinking. He appreciated that she never dismissed him outright. “I’m willing to negotiate.” She’d pecked another kiss to his temple before returning her chin to his curls and her gaze to the blueprints. “After.”

“After,” he had smiled, a startled excitement flickering in his chest at the thought. 

He couldn’t help but look forward to the way he could push through a set of swinging doors and out of the cool classy confines of the gala and into the loud chaos of a kitchen in use- a thumping wet hiss of the dishwashers, the slam and clank of metal pans on the saute burners, and voices yelling liquid spanish insults at each other while they spooned sauce onto the fine china plates in neat matching swooshes. Jason was counting the number of people behind the door when it swung, two line cooks, one expo focused on plating, and a pack of event servers ready to parade out into the gallery event space. He was touching the edge of the buffet table with easy fingers, noting the way the servers moved in a counterclockwise circle that meant the dishtank was to the right. He was moving along the soft fabric to the end, idly pretending to reach for a napkin.

“Think we could make it to the alley, kid?” A voice asked and Jason choked as he forced himself out of the instinctive urge to flail a punch at the threat and into a stuttered reach for a small golden bread roll to cover the movement. Roy Harper was smiling brightly at him from the other side of the table and Jason palmed the small round roll and shoved the bread into his mouth to keep from saying something stupid. Roy Harper had snuck up on _him_.

Jason chewed quickly, realizing he’d been asked a question and winced at the way his cheeks bulged. “What?” The reply was doughy, hidden behind a hand and the thick swallowed bite.

“Easy, kid. You’ll choke.”

“I like bread.” Jason wanted to punch himself in the face, flushing harder and trying to figure out what to do with his now empty hands. He almost tucked them into his pockets (no, that’s where he kept his lockpick kit and he couldn’t draw attention), but then started for his hair where it was curling into his face (no, he had bread crumbs on his fingers and that was gross), another roll of bread (no, no, _no_ ) and settled for tapping his fingers against the cloth covered buffet. This end of the table was covered in different types of bread rolls, croissants, and assorted sweet bread pastries. He blew out a breath and glared at the plate of perfectly round rolls. “Um.”

“I can see that.” Roy wet his lips, gaze flickering over Jason and it felt weighted and sharp under the goofy crooked smile. Jason knew what he looked like, awkward and rangy with overly broad shoulders, visible scars on his face, and big hands. He kept his hair longer to hide the way his ears stuck out slightly and the line that cut his right brow. Selina was convinced he’d grow into them. The awareness of his looks in comparison to the magazine pretty people Roy had been traveling with left Jason feeling awkward in his suit, his too big feet, his too big hands, and his half finished growth spurt.

“Do you like bread?” Jason heard himself ask with nothing like permission from his brain.

Roy simply laughed, bright and rasping. He laughed with his whole body, hands in his pockets and head rocked back. His throat worked, adam’s apple dipping over the top of his pressed white shirt. Jason could smell the pepper sweet of bourbon and a lingering cedar richness across the table. Roy settled back, rocking on his heels slightly and tilting Jason a look that sizzled. He had freckles on his eyelids. “I’ve been known to indulge.” 

Jason found himself smiling, dumbstruck and hot eared at the way Roy shook his head and ripped a manageable bite off a crusty breadstick. He exhaled sharply when Roy licked a crumb off his own thumb and looked around the room. 

“You were planning an escape, right? I didn’t read that wrong?”

“What?” 

“Look. I want to get out of the spotlight for a second. Got something I need to do.” Roy shrugged. “And you look like a kid who needed to do something that would get you in trouble.” Roy cocked his head and Jason could see more of the tattoo on his neck pulling over the collar of his white shirt. He could see the way ink lines whispered under the cuff of his sleeve where it was slipping down as Roy jerked a thumb over his shoulder to the swinging doors. “You in, kid?”

“Yes.” 

“Yeah?” 

Jason nodded and then frowned after a moment. “I’m fifteen. I’m not a kid.”

“Oh yeah? Okay.” Roy Harper smiled wider and Jason found himself swallowing. “Lead on, MacDuff.”

“Keep up,” Jason muttered in warning, finding a bit of Selina in the quick careless grin he tossed on the table between them. He moved, sliding into step with the pair of event servers as they exited the crowd to head into the kitchen. He caught the edge of the swinging door, holding it for them and then ducking into the warmer room. 

The back of house was controlled chaos, loud and muggy. A group of servers waited as the next course of finger appetizers were plated on the trays. The clatter of glassware being moved in racks a bright noise under the heavier clatter of metal platters and thick porcelain plates. The steam from the dish tank pushed sticky breaths against his skin as they paced past. He spared a mournful thought for his curls, knowing they’d tangle and sprawl out of the careful style. 

He almost paused, but Roy was at his back keeping up easily. He tapped a hand to Jason's hip in question and Jason straightened, shifting his bearing into the annoyed exhaustion that canted the event server’s shoulders and started talking over his shoulder. "I told Jesus to have the plates stacked at the end of the table, man. He was supposed to have them ready."

"You know how he is, man. Pinche Jesoucio," Roy caught on without a pause, answering with some idly bland dialogue. He'd moulded his face into a wry frown.

Jason thrilled at how easy it was to work together, trying not to let it flush under his skin. He felt powerful and charming as he touched Roy’s wrist, kicking his head to the side and rolling into a right turn that led down a slow grade hallway that had a few wheeled plastic carts tucked against the painted cinder block. The overhead lights just yawned blue white light that painted Roy's pale skin almost blue toned and highlighted the sleepy smudge of Jason's eyes.

The hallway ended at a double door with a lock-bar, fire alarm, and a rubber door stop that someone had already left to keep it propped open. Jason grinned, delighted, and popped them open, the cool air stroking over his skin as the night air of Gotham swirled down the wide alley between the museum and the parking garage. 

"Tada!" He turned on a quick heel, hand reaching into his jacket to snag his soft pack of Kools and tap out a battered cigarette and the cheap red plastic lighter. He tucked it into his grin, waggling his eyebrows at where Roy was watching him with a closed mouth unreadable look. 

"You shouldn't smoke."

"You should kiss my ass," Jason replied, teeth on the filter as he flicked the lighter a few times, shaking it absently before trying again.

The flick-clink-scratch of a zippo interrupted him and Roy held the flame out, cupped into his palm to light Jason's smoke. "That an invitation?"

"Thanks," Jason muttered, exhaling the first drag and plucking a bit of shake off his tongue with quick fingers. It felt strange and tight, caught close as Roy clapped the zippo closed, but didn't step back. Instead, he reached into his own pocket and plucked out the silver flask again, glancing around the wide industrial alley as he thumbed the top unscrewed. It was a practiced easy move that was followed by a quick swallow. 

He didn't offer Jason a drink. Jason exhaled smoke, watching the way the cherry went bright for a second, catching fiery highlights in Roy's hair before going dark. They were left in the pooling shadows between the wide flood lights mounted on the cement wall over the door and further down the alley at other back entrances. There was a loading dock divoting the building further down, the ramp marked with wide white lines and the top railing painted a bright flaking yellow. Anyone could bang out the door. Anyone could see. The alley was wide and clean, peppered with small puddles of murky rainwater and one slick looking puddle of condensation running down the wall next to a wide beige gutter. Jason could hear the air conditioners and sighted the blue dumpsters with a quick glance. When he looked back, Roy was looking at him. His breath smelled like bourbon. 

"Menthol?" Roy asked.

"Bourbon?" Jason countered and ducked his head, tapping the ash from the cigarette to hide the slight shake in his hands. Something was happening. He could feel the weight of Roy’s gaze even as the older boy listed slightly to the left, right hand lifting to steady him. Jason could feel the way he was utterly focused on the moment. He could feel the way time seemed to slow and speed concurrently. He watched the gray ash float and then settle into a murky puddle to their right. 

"What? You a scotch man?" Roy's voice was warm, close, and raspy as the sound of him taking another hit from the flask sloshed once, the attached cap rattling. 

"I don't drink," Jason answered, looking up at Roy from under his lashes. He wanted the moment to stretch out, wanted the tense tingle curling in his palms to stutter and pool. He wanted to reach into his pants and rearrange, tuck his dick against the waist of his pants to keep from being obvious. He wanted to be careful. He wanted to be reckless. He wanted Roy to watch.

"I don't smoke," Roy replied, plucking the cigarette from Jason's lips and turning it, hitting it like a joint before holding it back to him. Jason leaned forward, gaze steady, and took it from his fingers. 

The alley felt empty, alone but for the strange taut dance between them. Jason reached for the flask, eyebrows up when Roy pulled it back with a quick taunt, letting Jason lean into him, press purposefully against him, to take it. The metal was warm and Jason wondered at it, letting himself imagine putting his hand into the space between the lapel of Roy's green jacket and his crisp white shirt. He would feel the heat of his skin. Roy wet his lips and Jason noted there were freckles there too.

"We doing this?"

Jason took a sip, grimacing at the rough shot burn that bled over his tongue with the booze. He tried not to cough, tried to be cool under the heavy focus of Roy's eyes this close. Jason flicked the cigarette away, wet his lips, and moved- tucking the flask back into Roy's interior jacket pocket in answer. He could feel his heartbeat in his own wrists, in his jaw, in his dick. 

"Got nothin' else to do," he tried, desperate to sound cool and panting around the swollen want that bubbled electric in him. He was sure he could feel the air around Roy go hotter, go solid, like it pressed against him before Roy did.

Roy tasted like bourbon, second hand cigarettes, and laughter and Jason couldn't regret the noise he made at the quick confident press of tongue into his mouth- the tease of it making him shake and chase the throb. He'd kissed someone before. He'd pressed close-mouthed dry lips to Rena's smile, touching at the tip of her breast under the smooth cotton of her bra. She had felt warm. She had felt safe, warm as the tic of a radiator in winter.

Jason was unprepared for the wildfire of Roy Harper's hands unbuttoning his suit jacket, hitching his shirt out of his pants with a quick sharp tug, and spreading over his waist with thick rough calluses. Jason was unprepared for the way he was walked back to thump against the far wall. Jason was unprepared for how he went dizzy with how fast his dick went hard.

"Oh shit," he breathed, Roy ate the words with sharp teeth and soft wet tongue, urging Jason's head back as he slid his hands together between them and unhooked the interior clasp with deft fingers. 

"That's it," Roy whispered, voice husky and hot as the bourbon still burning in Jason's throat, warming his belly. "Just like that for me."

Jason threw Roy a startled hot eyed look, mouth open around a wide helpless vowel that slipped under the soft noise of his zipper. He grabbed for Roy, fingers curling quick and hard into the seam of his jacket where his shoulders dropped into muscled arms. The fabric was slippery, a little rough, and expensive. Roy wasn't looking down, just watching Jason's face and it felt real. It felt adult and purposeful as his pale freckled mouth stretched into a slim smile. "Oh, fuck."

Roy leaned forward, mouth open like he was inhaling the way Jason was panting, shaking as he slipped a thumb into the elastic of his briefs and pushed purposefully at the head of Jason's dick, smearing through the welling slick that pulsed. His briefs felt messy, damp and too hot, too close. He could smell himself; he wondered if Roy could smell him too. Jason shook, kneading and pulling at the fabric of Roy's jacket. 

"So wet for me already," Roy whispered, forehead rolling a little against Jason's and Jason knew the redhead was looking down, looking between them. He knew that Roy was watching the slip of his pale hand around where Jason was so hard he was sure his knees were going to give. "Gonna give it up? Gonna let me in?"

"I don't... what? Fuck. I-" Jason Todd was clinging to Roy in the alley behind a museum, head back, throat working, and trying not to come all over himself in a breathless gasp.

"Spread your legs a little." Roy licked at Jason's top lip, licked and teased at the flat of his tongue, and nipped the point of his chin before wrapping his hand around his length, knuckles tight against his skin, wrist pulling the waist of his briefs tight. "Look at you," he sighed, eyes dark and wet looking in the dim. "Fuck that's hot. What do you want, baby? I'll give it to you. Just say please."

" _You_."

Jason wanted to be embarrassed, wanted to suck the answer back into his lungs to keep the heartfelt break in his voice hidden forever. It was too earnest, too young. Roy would know. Roy would know that in this moment all Jason wanted was his mouth on his again, the hungry desperate way Roy kissed him. He wanted his hands stretching and sliding against his skin. He wanted to squirm under him. He wanted a soft bed and soft sheets and something closer to romance than a handjob against the rough cement in an alley. He wanted. He wanted him. 

He wanted to touch back. He wanted to slide slow curious open mouthed kisses over the wide line of shoulders under his hands. He wanted to trace the lines of the tattoos. He wanted to count his freckles. He felt greedy, overwrought, and violently selfish.

Roy's hand went tighter, just a second of acknowledgment that worked him harder before he looked up. "Say it again."

The alley was cool, a short huffed breeze sprinting along the cement and ruffling his curls before pirouetting away. Jason's knuckles ached, stomach quaking and taut. He gulped air, skin scorching. He knew he was blotchy, red faced and swollen mouthed. He knew his dick was ruddy and curving, bouncing in the cool air and reaching for Roy. He knew these things, but all he could see was the way Roy was trying to focus on him, a short confused look that felt like a desperate sort of hope. 

"You," Jason repeated, just a whisper as they stared at each other.

"Fuck," Roy groaned, the kiss shoving Jason flat against the wall, mouth full of the noise he made and the slick soft slow press of Roy's tongue, the flicker of teeth, and the warm plush feel of his lips. The kiss felt obscene and Jason forced a hand to uncurl, reaching shaking fingers to touch the sharp line of Roy's jaw. "Okay."

Roy Harper dropped to his knees in the alley, uncaring of the damp, the gravel, the dirt. He dropped to his knees and took Jason's hands with him. He pushed them into his hair and wet his lips, looking up the line of Jason's body, the loose hem of his dress shirt draped over his thighs and the open zipper of his slacks unfurled out. He watched Roy tug his briefs down, shook and huffed a startled noise that tasted like sex when he thumbed his balls, and whined at the hungry smile Roy smeared against the head of his dick.

"Gonna make this so good for you," Roy told him.

Jason panicked, tangling his fingers in Roy's hair and whining against the way his whole body went rigid, aching, and coiled too tight, too worked up. He felt the way his hips flexed, shoving his dick in a quick thrust against Roy’s cheek and again to rut against the line of his jaw. "Wait. I'm-"

"Breathe. I’ve got you."

The night sky was striped with the spotlights from the gala, wide white circles that waved along the low gray clouds that clung to the nearby skyscrapers. Jason mewled, swallowing and reached for anything that would keep him from coming right then.

"It's..." he panted, biting his lip and petting at the shape of Roy's head between his palms, high broken sob at the first slow press of his dick into Roy's mouth. "It's actually 'Lay on, MacDuff.'"

Roy leaned back, a string of spit hanging between the head of Jason’s dick and his mouth. “What?”

“The quote,” Jason continued, looking away from the sight like it would blind him. He reached down, grabbing his balls and tugging once, vicious, to keep from coming with his cock cooling in the air between them. He blew out a breath, touching the tenuous line that connected his dick to Roy’s mouth with a wondering finger. He watched Roy flinch when it broke, mouth twisting at the quick movement. “It’s Lay on, MacDuff.”

The restless hand Roy ran through his hair was ruddy-knuckled and strong. He huffed a breath, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist and snorted. “You want to argue about this now?” He took Jason in hand, jacking him with a perfect grip. 

“No?” Jason could feel his thighs shaking. “I just-”

“Good.” The image of Roy opening his mouth and pushing forward, fucking his face on Jason’s dick would haunt him for years. He knew before he felt Roy’s nose push and grind against his skin that he’d think of this, of this heat, this tight wet, this roll of tongue, this choked noise when he touched himself. He would think of the obscene stretch of Roy’s lips, the way his lashes fluttered, pale and gold before he looked up. He would think about the wet sound of it, the way his dick was shiny, slick with spit. He would shake at the memory of Roy’s hands reaching for his hips, the way they fit over his hip bones and pulled, urging him to move. He’d bite his lip and come with a choked cry at the way it had felt to tangle his fingers in that red hair and fuck forward, hunching and curled as he used Roy’s mouth. He’d pant and linger in the way it felt like Roy had asked him to.

Jason was coming before he could stop himself, shoving into the wet and the heat. He didn’t know what it looked like. He would regret the way his eyes screwed shut as he throbbed, his entire body tensed as he lost it. Jason had needed to be _inside_ , to be deeper. He was pulsing over Roy’s tongue, startling back and shooting once over his face: a shiny rope of his come slippery and dripping from Roy’s lips. He could hear the rough rasping whines wrenched out of him as he grabbed his own dick, milking one more throb that spilled over his knuckles- blood hot and messy as he shook. He recovered slowly, panting and tugging where he clung to Roy. He heard Roy spit, huff a laugh, and wipe at his face. 

“Fuck. That was hot, kid.” Roy’s voice was deeper, rough and raw. 

“Yeah?” Jason wet his lips, catching his breath and giddy in the aftermath. He’d done that. He’d fucked that deep voice raw. He blinked slowly, finally noting the way Roy’s skin was flushed, prickling with sweat as his shoulders rocked. He was jerking himself, quick sure strokes where he knelt. Jason could feel the hot breaths as he panted, the flicker of pink tongue as he licked the come on his mouth. He was watching Jason with a singular focus. Jason felt his dick twitch, too sweet and too soon, with interest.

“Close.”

Jason blew out a breath, trying to collect himself but helpless to the way his hands were moving completely without his permission, smearing through the mess on Roy’s cheek and thumbing it past his lips to smear it over his tongue. Jason felt wild, possessive and loose in his own skin. “C’mere.”

Roy rambled to his feet, pushing a hard needy mouth against where Jason felt loose and warm. He felt the tip of Roy’s dick rubbing against his hip, tapping against him as Roy fucked his fist. He felt Roy’s urgency, the flushed stiffness of his body, the hard punishing kisses that Jason opened to. He felt Roy start to tremble, the soft noise that rumbled in the back of his throat as Roy fucked his tongue into Jason’s mouth. Jason tasted himself there, the bitter viscous tang of his come. He felt it cooling, smeared into Roy’s skin as he reached up, cupping Roy’s face between his hands and held on. 

“Close, fuck, so close,” Roy rasped. “Let me?”

“Do it. I want you to,” Jason told him, watching Roy’s eyes startle open, shocked and hopelessly earnest for a deft second before it melted into a snarl of desire. Roy pushed tighter, forehead bruising against Jason’s as his whole body tensed, shocking and jerking as he came in thick pulses over the hem of Jason’s shirt and along the cut of his hip.

The alley was quiet, Gotham muffled in the background and the slow overlapping wail of sirens and cobbled beats of mismatched music streaking past on the main road just past the end of the alley. Jason nosed at Roy’s face, feeling the soft warm smile that spread there and wanting to taste it. He kissed him, slow and sweet like it was the first time, like they could spend hours just pushing slick tongues and warm lazy lips against each other. He nuzzled into it, helplessly soft and loose in the warm thumping glow in his chest. 

Roy sighed, pulling them together and rocking his hips, his softening dick through the mess he’d made of Jason’s skin. He leaned back, smile crooked and inhaled so long Jason could see the way it pulled his shirt taut over his chest, could see the tease of more ink under the white fabric. 

“I need a smoke,” Jason said seriously into the quiet between them. 

Roy tucked himself away, sniffing as he worked his shirt back into his pants with quick bladed hands. “Yeah?” He arched a brow, looking for a moment like he was going to lean forward and catch Jason’s mouth again. Jason felt his mouth open in anticipation.

“Roy!” The door slapped open, the noise a stunning layer of rushed air, metal on metal, and quick shout. Dick Grayson stumbled out the door into the alley, smile stunning as Roy spun, shielding Jason from sight and made an annoyed sound. “There you... are. Oh, shit. Sorry.”

“Jesus, Dick. Warn a guy.” Roy went from soft and smiling to something unrecognizable in a breath. 

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were... busy.” Dick started and Jason could hear the embarrassment, could almost picture the way Dick’s entire body would telegraph surprise from his eyebrows to the turn of his wrists. “I said I’m sorry.”

“Whatever,” Roy muttered, ducking his head and Jason watched his shoulders move, redressing and erasing the mess they’d made of each other in the alley. He watched the redhead palm at his cheek, frowning a little and taking a step away. “We were done here.” Roy glanced over his shoulder at him. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Jason heard himself say, eyes going hard at where Roy was giving him a fake smile. He straightened, matching him with something he’d seen on Selina- simple and unimpressed. “Yeah, we’re done.”

“Okay?” Dick hesitated and Jason was grateful for the dim in the alley. It hid the way his face flamed with shame and something cold like anger. The older boy was pushing onto tiptoes, trying to peer around Roy at him. “You su-?”

“Stop being nosy, Bigbird.” Roy slapped an arm around his friend, tugging him close. Jason watched the way Dick’s nose wrinkled and he leaned back.

“You’re drunk.”

“Gettin’ there. Wanna help?” Roy leered and Jason went cold, the bottom dropping out of the warmth he’d felt only moments ago. 

“Come on,” Dick answered, shoving Roy’s face and reaching to tug the door open again. The sound of the gala spilling out over the concrete to stain the night. “Ollie’s looking for you.”

“Ollie can suck my dick,” Roy muttered, ducking into the hall without looking back. “Lead on, MacDuff.”

Jason watched the door close and dug into his jacket for a smoke. “Idiot.”

**Author's Note:**

> Their story doesn't end here y'all.


End file.
